First Time Killer

by Alan Orloff

  Rick grabbed the boy’s shoulder and spun him around. “Did you see a little girl here? Blond?”

  The kid brushed Rick’s hand from his shoulder. “Yeah. Left with some dude.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the entrance.

  Rick stared down at the kid. “Who? Who took her?”

  The boy stared up, then shrugged. “Dunno. Some big dude. Never saw him before. Kinda scary looking.” Then he shrugged again.

  The world swam in front of Rick’s eyes. A picture of Sarah Sue, lying in the huge hospital bed, a china doll in a big girl’s bed. Except it wasn’t her face. Livvy’s face, gaunt and pale, poked out above the gown.

  He snapped back to the present. The kid had returned to his game. Livvy! Rick opened his mouth to ask Winn if he’d seen a scary dude hanging around, but stopped as he realized Winn wasn’t standing next to him. At the arcade’s exit, he saw Winn high-tailing it away.

  Rick bolted after Winn, but tripped over a backpack someone had plunked down in the aisle. He went sprawling, wiping out two pre-teens playing some Mario game. He barked out a terse apology as he scrambled to his feet and took off in pursuit.

  At the entrance to the mall, the brightness caught him off guard. He paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Squinted left, then right. Heard the shouting before he saw the commotion.

  Thirty yards away in the food court, Winn was wrestling with a large man dressed in a burgundy Redskins jersey. Rick’s heart stopped. Tucked under one of the large man’s arms like a football was Livvy.

  Winn was old and out of shape. The large man held him at bay with one arm. Rick streaked toward the battle, screaming as loud as he could. “Help! Security! Someone call the cops!”

  As he ran, he saw Livvy’s kidnapper kick Winn in the leg, a vicious blow. The old man went down to his knees, but still grabbed for his assailant. In the blink of an eye, the hulking figure pulled a knife from his pocket, flicked it open, and slashed Winn in the face. Blood sprayed in the air and the shrieks of nearby shoppers fueled the frenzy. Winn crumpled to the floor as his attacker ran.

  Rick put it into high gear. He closed to within fifteen yards. “Stop. Stop right there,” Rick yelled.

  The monster did stop. And turned toward Rick. He brandished a knife in Livvy’s face.

  Rick was near enough to see the panic in Livvy’s eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the eyes pleaded, pleaded. Save me, Daddy.

  A weird smile grew on the large man’s face. “So, here we are. Recognize me?”

  Rick knew that voice. He’d heard it before. Almost daily. But he couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit him. Standing before him, holding his daughter hostage at knifepoint, was a blond, cleanly-shaven, Garth the Goth. With both ears intact. “Garth?”

  “You can call me First Time, if that makes you feel better. Let’s face it, you care more about him than you ever did about Garth the Goth.” He sneered. “Ringmaster, my ass.”

  “Let her go, man. She’s just a child. Stop this.”

  Garth held up his knife in one hand, raised Livvy slightly in his other. “No. You stop. Or I’ll cut her. Bad.”

  Rick swallowed, feeling like he was floating in the air, watching the horror unfold from above. He held his arms out. “Okay. Take it easy.” He glanced to the side, saw Winn lying motionless on the ground, a small puddle of blood gathering around his head.

  Garth’s face had turned a deep red. When he spoke, a few specks of white foam gathered at the sides of his mouth. “You blew it. Big time. And then you had the balls to badmouth me to all of America. You disloyal piece of shit. I should cut out your tongue right here.” His eyes shone. “Right here in front of your precious daughter.” Contempt dripped from his words.

  Livvy’s sobs got louder. Garth shook her, then squeezed. “Shut up. Shut the hell up.”

  Rick stepped forward, but froze when Garth raised his blade. “Watch it man. I’m in the cuttin’ mood. Ease back.” Before Rick could respond, Garth touched the tip of the blade to Livvy’s neck. She squealed as a drop of red appeared.

  “I’m moving, I’m moving,” Rick shuffled back two steps, concentrating on Livvy. And on Garth. His entire world had narrowed to two people. His daughter and her captor. “Hang on. Don’t do anything rash.” He tried to keep his voice calm, a soothing tone. Buddy to buddy.

  An ugly laugh spewed from Garth’s mouth. “Stow it, Rick. I’m immune to your charms. Remember, I heard your shtick for years. It sucked then and it sucks now.”

  “Let her go. Whatever your beef is, it’s with me. Take me instead. Hold me hostage.”

  Garth shifted Livvy in his arm. “My beef is with you. We could have kept this thing going. Made millions. Instead, you ruined it. Without me, the ratings will sink. And the deal will be off. And our fucking equity worthless.” He glanced around, ducked his head. Whispered. “We could forget about all this. Tell everyone this was just a crazy radio stunt. Go back to the way it was? What do you say?”

  Crazy. Garth was insane. Where were the cops? Somebody must have called them. An ambulance, too. Winn needed help. Fast.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Help me.” Livvy kicked and swung her arms, but Garth the Monster was too strong. Too big. A few ringlets of golden hair flopped down into her eyes.

  “I will sweetie, I will.” If he waited too long, he had no doubt Garth would kill them both, just like he’d killed the others. To him, killing people was like swatting flies.

  Rick stepped forward. One step. Two steps. Edging closer. “Just take it easy.” He held his hands up, palms out. No tricks here.

  “Don’t you fucking understand English?” Garth licked his lips. The big man’s eyes flitted around. From Rick to Livvy to the escalator on his right.

  Rick froze. Would he take off with Livvy? Use her as a shield when the cops arrived? Slash her throat for kicks? “Come on Garth, you don’t want to do this. Let her go and we’ll talk.”

  “How does it feel, Ringmaster? Now that you’re not hiding in the studio, spouting bullshit to the masses. Now that you’re about to see your girl…” Slowly, he brought his knife closer to Livvy. Flashed the blade under her throat. “How’s it feel now?” Garth’s eyes bored into Rick’s, dilated and wild.

  Livvy’s head jerked sideways and her mouth clamped down onto Garth’s wrist. He let out a yelp and dropped the knife. The little girl clawed wildly at Garth’s face, kicking and thrashing and yelling. Rick lowered his head and launched himself at Garth, butting him squarely in the chest.

  The collision knocked Livvy free. Rick heard her cry as he rammed his body into the larger man. Legs driving, he forced Garth back a few feet, until they crashed into a couple of chairs by the glass safety barrier, overlooking the stage below.

  Rick wrapped his arms around Garth’s midsection and kept on driving. He had Garth off-balance and wouldn’t let him get his legs under him, couldn’t. If it came down to a match of strength, Rick didn’t stand a chance. He had to rely on his advantage in leverage. He kept driving, but his forward momentum came to a halt. He’d driven Garth back into the glass panel.

  The backstop was a boon to Garth. Within seconds, he managed to get both feet on the ground, enabling him to push back. And push back he did. Although he was still driving hard, Rick began to slide backward. He was losing the battle.

  Now or never. His one chance. Rick crouched, gathered himself. Then he dipped his shoulder and exploded into his adversary. Garth resisted, then, like a rubber band snapping, he flew backward, hitting the middle of his back on the chrome railing. His upper torso extended out over nothingness, over the atrium lobby below, while his legs pawed the air, searching for something solid upon which to gain a foothold.

  Rick watched, transfixed, as Garth’s right foot landed on the seat of a chair. He extended his leg, and stood, stretching his big frame high up into the air, bringing it back from the brink. “Thought you had me, huh? I’m not done yet.” Garth snarled down at Rick from above.

  Rage propelled Rick. He sprang forwar
d again, crashing into Garth’s legs, pinning them against the safety barrier. Then he pushed upward as hard as he could, getting his right shoulder under the big man, pushing him up and out and driving, driving, driving, legs pumping, arms heaving, with every ounce of strength he possessed. The big man teetered and seemed to hang on the railing for several seconds, face contorted, then flipped over, down into the abyss. A loud thud rose up from the atrium floor. The surprised look on Garth’s face as he realized his fate seared into Rick’s memory.

  He steeled himself for a quick glance over the side. First Time splayed across the stage, head canted at an impossible angle. A few people approached the body. One looked up and pointed. Shouts from below began to intensify.

  Rick spun around, ran to where Livvy lay on the ground, scooped her up in his arms. “Honey. Oh Livvy. Are you okay?” Tears welled in his eyes.

  Livvy nodded, eyes red and wet, then burrowed her head into Rick’s chest. Blond ringlets tickled his nose, and the faint smell of baby shampoo brought a thankful smile to his lips.

  CHAPTER 56

  “ONCE WE MEDICATED Dimitri, he spilled like a breached oil tanker. And just as vile, putrid, and oily,” Adams said, without a trace of theatrics in his voice. He’d called Rick earlier, asking to come over to fill them in. Personally. In the comfort of their home, away from the horde of reporters eager to grab Rick and not let go until he’d been reduced to mush. Rick was grateful for the cop’s personal touch.

  “More coffee, Detective?” Barb asked. Yesterday, she’d cried non-stop for ten minutes when Rick had told her what happened. Tears of relief, mostly, but Rick knew there were some “what-if” tears, too. What if Livvy had been hurt? What if they’d both been killed?

  “No, thank you, ma’am.” Adams glanced around the living room. “You’re very kind. Anyway, turns out, Dimitri and Garth were buddies. Met during some remote a few years ago. They shared common interests—electronics, computers, other stuff. Hung out together. That’s where all the inside stuff from his website came from—Garth. From how Dimitri describes things, it seemed like he idolized Garth at first. Being around the Circus and all. Thought he was the be-all and end-all.” Adams shook his head. “But as their ‘relationship’ grew, Dimitri became the dominant one. Found out what Garth’s buttons were. And pushed them. Hard and often.” Said to Barb, “You know, I do think I’d like some coffee, if it’s okay.”

  Barb got up and poured him a cup, brought the steaming mug back to the table.

  “So Dimitri knew Garth? That’s an unlikely pair, if you ask me. Although they both are plenty weird,” Rick said. And demented.

  “I’d have to agree with that. Two unstable personalities, feeding off each other. Discussing abominable things for so long they sounded reasonable. Must be some kind of case study in abnormal psychology or something.” Adams ran a hand over his bald head.

  “Hard to believe they could pull it off,” Barb said.

  “Well, they were sick, but they weren’t stupid. Quite intelligent, in fact. Bought the voice-disguising equipment. Even modified it some. Dimitri said he and Garth also figured out how to confound us when we tried to trace their calls. Used a combo of pre-paid phones, fake ids, and electronic trickery. Said they came up with the whole sick plan together.”

  “Why?” Barb’s mouth trembled. Rick knew it would take some time for her to get over this.

  “Money. One of the more popular motives for all crimes. Garth’s piece of the show could be worth millions.” Adams took a sip of coffee, then set the mug down quickly, clanking it on the table. “But there were some other factors, I’m sure. According to Dimitri, Garth felt inferior. Like everyone thought he was a piece of crap. Dimitri said he was always whining about it, always fantasizing about ways to get revenge. Mostly railed at people from the station. He hated just about everyone there.” He glanced at Rick, holding his eyes for a moment. “Except you. He thought you were going to give him a fair shake. And you did, for a while. Then you turned on him. When you—”

  “He did not turn on him,” Barb said, face coloring slightly as she defended her husband.

  Adams held his hand up. “I’m just saying that’s how Garth felt. He was always imagining slights and offenses. Magnifying things.”

  “Garth was out there, but he just didn’t strike me as a murderer,” Rick said.

  “Well, if you can believe it, I think Dimitri egged him on. Fed him stories about what would happen. What could happen if he killed a few people.” Adams took another sip, a longer sip, of coffee.

  “Why would Dimitri want to be part of it? Surely he must have considered the notion he’d get caught,” Rick asked.

  Adams barked a small laugh. “Criminals never think they’re going to get caught. They’re too smart. But Dimitri’s whole world was the Circus. And the website he developed. If your show went under—a strong possibility after the Rhino died—then he’d have nothing. No so-called celebrity, no purpose in life. He needed the show to continue. He needed big ratings. And what better way to guarantee big ratings than to cover a crazed murder spree from the inside.” Adams shook his head. “Plus, Garth was going to give him a cut of the payoff, no doubt.”

  It was all a bit much for Rick to swallow. Murdering people to get ratings? That was even beyond Celia’s imagination, although she did run with it once it plopped into her lap. Not for the first time, he was embarrassed to be in the radio profession.

  “The lure of big money was too great. Dimitri said he dangled the money in front of Garth, every time he’d question if what they were doing was the right thing. Dimitri really had him tied around his finger.”

  “Incongruous. He’s so small and Garth was a hefty brute,” Rick said. “What about Garth’s cousin? Was Linc involved?”

  “We interviewed him for hours. Claims he was in the dark. ’Course, Garth designated him as the beneficiary for his equity share. So we think he planned to contact Linc some time after the satellite deal had gone through, looking for his money. You know, ‘Howdy cuz, I’m back from the dead. And by the way, where’s my cash?’ Something like that.” Adams shook his head. “Crazy, for sure.”

  “Man. He didn’t seem crazy. A little weird, but more counter-culture than crazy,” Rick said.

  “His insanity was on the inside—he hid it well. Sociopaths do that. He and Dimitri worked well together, too. They’d take turns calling in as First Time, using their device to alter their voices, make them sound the same. That way, one could call while the other had an alibi, and vice versa. I even vaguely recall seeing Dimitri at the Francis Park show.”

  “Whose ear did I unwrap?” Rick asked.

  “Danzler’s. Garth cut off his arm and put it in the trashcan. Then hacked off a few body parts to keep, just in case. We’re still trying to hunt them down—Dimitri’s being a little cagey about that. They staged Garth’s death to remove any suspicion we might have. And it worked. Although once we got back the DNA results on the ear, we would have known the truth. According to Dimitri, the selection of Ashlee and Tubby as victims was completely Garth’s idea. Some sort of vengeance deal.” Adams’s face clouded. “How’s Winn?”

  “Recuperating. Doctor says he should be fine, although he’ll have a nasty scar. And the blade nicked his larynx, too. His voice will never be the same,” Rick said.

  Rick sat on the edge of the baby-blue vinyl chair, trying to ignore the whirs and beeps of the machines monitoring Winn. He’d been weaned off most of them, but a few hummed and whistled every so often, reminding Rick where he was.

  Not that he needed the reminder. The temperature in the room wasn’t hot, wasn’t even what a normal person would consider warm. But a thin layer of sweat glazed Rick’s body. His pulse sped up and slowed down erratically, and he felt if he spoke too loudly, someone in a nearby room would code out. He’d never liked hospitals, but Sarah Sue’s stay in them ensured his hatred for life.

  “You’re looking better, sport,” Rick said, and he meant it. If you ignored the b
andages covering most of Winn’s lower face. After a rocky couple of days, Winn had made some amazing strides.

  Winn tipped his head forward slightly—about as much as he could, Rick guessed—and scribbled something on a dry-erase board one of the nurses had given him. How’s Livvy?

  “She’s fine. A little spooked still, but she’ll be fine. She’s plenty spunky. Just like her godfather.” Rick felt tears forming. He hadn’t told Winn about his suspicions. Never would. It was amazing what the fear of losing a child could do to one’s judgment. He hoped he could get past it; living with guilt was a terrible thing.

  Winn wiped off the board with a ratty tissue. Wrote something else. Barb?

  “She’s okay. Feels a little guilty for making you leave your gun behind,” Rick said. “Considering what happened, and all.” When Winn had joked to Barb that Livvy would be safe at the mall because “he was packing,” she’d read him the riot act and refused to let Livvy go until he gave up the gun.

  Winn’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Well, maybe guilty’s not the right word. Conflicted. She hates guns, you know.”

  Winn nodded, scribbled something else on his board. How’s the show?

  “Brewster cleaned house. Got rid of Marty and Celia in one fell swoop. Sent Tin Man back to Jersey, too.” Rick grinned. “SatRad said they’ll keep the deal alive. See how we do over the next six months before making it official.”

  A small smile twitched the part of Winn’s moustache Rick could see.

  Rick cleared his throat. “And you’re looking at the new PD. If I want the job, that is.”

  Winn set the board down on his stomach and applauded softly. No easy feat with a tube running into one arm.

  Rick leaned forward and took the board from Winn. “Thanks. But you need to take it easy. Don’t worry about anything except getting better. First Time is dead. Livvy and I are fine. And you’ll be fine too, after a few weeks recuperating in this nice spa.” He smiled, then his expression turned serious. “Thanks, Winn. For going after Livvy. If you hadn’t slowed him down, no telling what might have happened. I owe you. Big time.”